Our Song of Praise, when I was five
In a church
stuffy dry and
hot. In a pink
flouncy itchy dress
I sat.
Trying to be
good. Playing with
my blue pop
beads. Pink pop
beads. (they were
snakes and two pop
beads together
was a
baby
snake.) And then
the Sermon — I knew
how stern the
moment
was and I could
scarcely breathe
until we stood to
sing
our song of praise.
Then I
knew the
end was
near and I
could go home and
talk to God under
the spirea bushes,
drawing pictures
in the dirt.
–Barbara Robinette
Barbara Robinette, a former Springfield resident, now lives in Arkansas, where the spirea bushes are now in bloom.
People’s Poetry accepts poems on any subject, but ones that deal with
issues of local interest are encouraged. Send yours to Books and Poetry Editor
Corrine Frisch c/o Illinois Times, P.O. Box 5256, Springfield, IL 62705, or
to cfrisch@illinoistimes.com with “People’s Poetry” in the subject line.
This article appears in Apr 29 – May 5, 2004.
